


Red and Black

by grrrranjolras



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Canon Era, Character Study, M/M, POV First Person, Possibly Triggering Self Hate, Possibly Unrequited Love, Self Loathing, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 20:47:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1199655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grrrranjolras/pseuds/grrrranjolras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My infatuation began as a mere stutter of feeling deep in my soul and quickly grew into a raging inferno that consumed me. Everything is red and gold and Enjolras. The black spots housed in my ribcage built by years of disappointment and resentment slowly began to fade and turn gray as I came to know him. There are moments when I almost feel human again. Especially moments like this, where he is gesturing grandly and speaking with all of the idealistic naiveté of youth. </p><p>I want to believe.</p><p>But at the end of the night, I am still a gross caricature of a man and he is still the sun, so full of life and energy that he is almost painful to look at.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red and Black

**Author's Note:**

> I'm lucky enough to have the best beta in the entire world. Thank you so much to Tumblr user [CanadianCosette](http://canadiancosette.tumblr.com). Without your extremely valuable input, this fic would be a lost cause.

His words are full of conviction and my heart pounds a wild tattoo in my chest. Never have I been so close to believing in a cause greater than myself as I am now, as his beliefs pour from him like a flood his lips can’t contain. He is so sure and in turn, I am at ease.

He is the reason I’ve lived as long as I have, though he is unaware of it.

My infatuation began as a mere stutter of feeling deep in my soul and quickly grew into a raging inferno that consumed me. Everything is red and gold and Enjolras. The black spots housed in my ribcage built by years of disappointment and resentment slowly began to fade and turn gray as I came to know him. There are moments when I almost feel human again. Especially moments like this, when he is gesturing grandly and speaking with all of the idealistic naiveté of youth.

I want to believe 

But at the end of the night, I am still a gross caricature of a man and he is still the sun, so full of life and energy that he is almost painful to look at. He burns brightly as he speaks and I flourish in his presence, though I often appear to wilt. 

Tonight he has taken the time to send a small, secret smile in my direction. Had I not been the only fool seated on this side of the room, I would have been tempted to say I dreamt it and I am briefly thankful for my sudden bouts of insecurity that occasionally force me to sit away from the group. For if I had not been in such a black mood tonight, I would have been seated next to Prouvaire or perhaps Bahorel, drinking and shouting ill-timed barbs just to see my golden god bristle. Instead, my insides flutter at the notice he has taken while my traitorous brain rebels and insists that I’ve imagined it.

I did not imagine it.

“Do you not agree, Grantaire?”

My musing is brought abruptly to an end as those cool, calculating eyes suddenly turn to me.

“Agree or disagree, my opinion matters not. You will do what it is that you plan and such a pitiful creature as I will follow, regardless.” I reply, my fingers tightening on the nearly empty bottle in front of me. It is not often that I am unwilling to rise to his bait and I can see that my indifference has intrigued him. His smile has ensnared me; we are even.

“Yes, I do not doubt that you will. But the fact remains that I asked for your opinion and you have yet to give it. I would hear you speak on the construction of the barricades. Combeferre tells me that your cynical eye is invaluable in regards to strengthening our cause. It is time that you prove him right.”

An uneasy hush has fallen over the room and the eyes of our friends are considering me, drawing their own conclusions. Some are pitying and others are curious and others still are filled with no small amount of mirth. My discomfort is always an excellent source of entertainment when that discomfort is derived from Enjolras. Those who look at me pityingly are aware of my unrequited veneration and think on some level that his attention is painful for me. It is not. I will take whatever pieces of him I can get.

“You would be wise to seek counsel elsewhere. My only opinion is that a group of foolish schoolboys is no match for an army of trained Frenchmen.” I finally reply before taking a long draw of whatever it is that the pretty girl who kept the bar had set before me the previous hour. It burns as it slides down my throat. My only request had been that it was strong and she had delivered quite admirably, for I am already feeling a bit drunk; generally I have the tolerance of an ox.

Enjolras’ brow furrows and his lips purse as he considers my reply, though it is with some frustration.

“An army of trained men will be nothing when faced with all of the angry citizens of Paris, spurred to action by our cries for equality. They will rise because they can do no less if they wish to live. They will starve otherwise.” He returns a moment later with a fierce calm, though his hands are curled into fists at his sides. It is the same argument we’ve been participating in since our introduction and it is now wearing thin.

“I do not doubt that they will rise if you ask them. It is human nature to gravitate towards the sun and you are such a bright and burning orb that they cannot help but follow your lead.” My tone is slightly mocking, but my words are sincere. If anyone is able to unite the people of Paris, it will be him. He is a piper and lowly people like myself nothing but rats, destined to follow his song wherever he may go. It is the way of the world.

His cheeks flush as his irritation grows and my breath catches in my throat at seeing his face so suffused with color. This is when he is the most beautiful. His anger and burning righteousness are a glorious sight to behold and I am immediately trying to memorize the expression gracing his hard features. I have yet to transfer it to canvas, though not for lack of trying. Perhaps this time I will manage to get it right, for I can already imagine the swirling, vibrant cacophony of carmine, crimson, and cerise, hints of soft gold and righteous white light interspersed.

“And I suppose that you will come should I call, as well? You’ve said it yourself: I will lead and so shall you follow. So why is it that you mock me and my ideals? It is a strange circumstance when you’ve committed yourself so wholly to our cause, if one can call drunken raving and constant belligerence commitment.”

I freeze and my breath ceases to move through my lungs. I am clinging to the edge of the table as though it will save me from his disdain, but I force my gaze to harden and my eyes meet his. I cannot flinch, for if I do, he will know how deeply his words affect me and he will finally begin to see that my feelings towards him are more than simple admiration, though there can hardly be any doubt after the drunken declaration of love I’d made the previous night. 

He had caught me unawares and I’d been too far gone for self-preservation. I laughed it off and treated it as a jest, but after seeing his mocking eyes rove across my frame, I do not believe that I was successful.

“And why should I remain sober when the world is full of such things as death and hunger and pain? That is all we can expect in life and I see no reason to meet any of it without drink.” I finally manage to bite out, forcing my expression into one of amused nonchalance.

I can see his teeth grinding together with the effort of remaining calm and suddenly his mouth goes slack and his eyes turn to disappointment rather than the beautiful indignation they’d held before.

“If you’re going to do nothing but sulk and darken the corner in which you sit, then I would have you take your leave. Your useless drivel isn’t fit for an evening such as this. I had expected more of you tonight.”

My throat closes and I can’t help the sharp pang of desperation that rockets through my very being. He is sending me away and though he has done it before, he has never done so with so little emotion behind his dismissal. It is a painful reminder of where I stand in his eyes and it is now obvious that my insistence that he misheard me was not believed. He has captured me and he is aware of it and he now seeks to expel me from his presence, a lowly, groveling thing unable to thrive in the absence of his notice.

It had been difficult enough to appear before him after making such a blatant fool of myself, but as always, I had been unable to bear the thought of not being in his light even for one night. I had come against my better judgment. Now that I see how blatantly I have disgraced myself in his eyes, I wish I had not.

I am out the door before I begin gasping frantically for air, eliciting strange looks from a nearby beggar woman who scurries away when my distraught gaze lands on her. Just as well. I can feel bile rising in my throat and I would have the darkened alley to myself. It is not the alcohol that causes me to nearly empty the contents of my stomach into the gutter.

It is a moment before I am able to regain some semblance of myself and I want nothing more than to drown in a cask of wine. I am about to return to my squalid apartment and do just this when I feel a firm hand on my shoulder and I am turned roughly.

Enjolras stands before me, brilliant in his rectitude and stunning in his indignation.

“I had thought that after last night, you would be more accepting of our cause. Was I wrong to assume that your manner towards me would have changed?” he demands, his fierce gaze seeking my own.

It is such a turnaround from his mask of near indifference inside the Musain that I am momentarily taken aback.

“I know not of what you speak.” I finally manage to reply. My voice sounds small and vulnerable and I immediately despise myself further. I would not have his opinion of me sink any lower than it already is, though it seems I am unable to help ruining myself in his eyes.

“You do. What of your confession?”

He is restless as he takes in my trembling frame and if he was any other man, I would swear that he also appears uncertain. But this is Enjolras and such a human emotion is foreign to him.

“I made no confession.” I answer, already feeling like a fool. It is folly to continue this farce when we both know that he is aware of it, but I can’t seem to stop myself. I would hold on to him just a moment more, though I am terrified he will catch on to my aim and return to his soapbox inside the café. The others have surely noted his absence.

He scoffs and moves closer, his hands rising to rest on my shoulders, the skin beneath which burns in response and I am once again disbelieving that an entity such as Enjolras should exist and that he should stand before me with such tenderness in his eyes. It is not an expression I’ve seen on him before and certainly not one that I ever expected to be directed towards me. I am afraid that it will disappear should I blink, so instead I stare.

“You are shuddering. Is my touch so distasteful?”

Laughter forces its way out of my mouth and it sounds strangled even to my own ears. The idea that his caress should disgust me is ludicrous and the very thought of it is enough to bring me to the edge of madness.

“Your touch is life to the dying man.” I manage to gasp, unable to lie to him as he focuses his attention solely on my broken, distorted visage.

A moment passes and the air is heavy around us, thick with all that is unsaid. I am unable to move away from his warmth, though it is overwhelming and my breath is beginning to stutter in my throat as he continues to fix me with his inquisitive gaze. Then, before I am able to fathom exactly what it is he plans, his lips are seeking my own and I can’t help the small sound of shock that escapes my throat.

My hands immediately tighten on his waistcoat and I feel myself leaning into the embrace against my will. My thoughts are reeling, frantic things that flit around the edges of my consciousness before flying away until I am aware of nothing but the feeling of his mouth caressing my own. The rough texture of his lips, the tantalizing velvet of his tongue moving hesitantly against my own; both are enough to make me believe that I’ve temporarily succumbed to some madness or another.

He is too uncertain and I am dazed and yet it is perfect and over too soon. He retreats, his cheeks suffused with color and his expression one of surprise. Before I am able to gather myself, he is speaking, though I do not comprehend his words, then he is gone in a flurry of movement and I am alone once more.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic that I've written in nine years. I'm so sorry about my terrible characterization and oh wow I am nervous.
> 
> Comments and criticism are highly welcome and appreciated. Feel free to come say hi on [Tumblr](http://grrranjolras.tumblr.com)!


End file.
